Memories
by WretchedOutsider
Summary: When Ana disappears under mysterious circumstances, the search leads Christian to the abandoned resort town, Silent Hill. He strives to save her, but in the process is forced to face the dark aspects of himself and gets a therapy session from Hell.
1. Chapter 1

Begins where _Grey_ left off.

Featuring mainly: Christian, Taylor, and Ella. Ana, Leila, other subs, and OCs may also make appearances. Silent Hill is based mostly on the game, particularly 2, but has aspects from the film.

Naturally, the aforementioned characters (except OCs) belong to S̶t̶e̶p̶h̶a̶n̶i̶e̶ ̶M̶e̶y̶e̶r̶ EL James ... hehe.

And the town/character of Silent Hill belongs to Konami? Kojima? Team Silent (forever).

* * *

Thursday, June 9, 2011

She's in there. I can practically smell her sweet perfume, though I know it's merely a memory from the last time we saw each other. The moment she left me. Anastasia, _what have I done?_

Taylor pulls the Audi alongside the curb next to Seattle Independent Publishing house, or SIP. The man looks at his surroundings with a hint of caution, but confidence. It's moments like these that I'm glad to have Jason Taylor, the ever observant bodyguard, under my employ, because I'm too fixated on the double door entrance to SIP to worry about my own safety.

"Music, Sir?" Taylor asks.

"Classical," I say.

"Of course, Sir."

Shubert's _Sonata Andantino_ fills the SUV. A melancholy piece, at times harsh, it was inspired by the acceptance of death.

"Turn it off, Taylor."

"Of course, Sir."

Silence again. I check my phone. 5:50 pm. No texts, no emails, no anything. She should be done with work by now. The damn windows to SIP are tinted heavy black, making it impossible to see into the lobby. I use my phone's camera as a mirror, trying to manage my copper-colored hair so it at least looks like I combed it. But no matter how clean I look, the gray eyes in the image are alight with barely contained anger. I can't afford to be angry now. I can't afford to scare her away. Again.

5:56. Maybe I had been too forward offering her a ride to Josè's photography whatever-it-was. But she accepted my offer. Maybe she's having second thoughts. But if she's bailing now, she at least owes me an explanation.

"Taylor, wait here."

"Sir, I think's it's best—" he starts, but I've already slammed the door and started for the entrance before he could even finish his protest.

I straighten my jacket before walking through the door. Scanning the small lobby, I see a slim, young woman in a plum dress. Her long, brunette hair falls in waves down her slender back. As she turns, I freeze – not Anastasia – and then sigh. The woman who is not Anastasia walks right past me and out the door.

A college-aged, perky blonde sits behind the information desk. Her laminated nametag reads "Rachael – SIP Intern."

"Hi, can I help you?" she asks as she quickly fixes her ponytail.

"Yes, I'm looking for Anastasia Steele."

She smiles, "Ana? Mr. Hyde's assistant?"

"Yes. Tell her it's urgent."

With a nod, she scurries off around the corner. When she returns, she says "I'm sorry, but she won't be back until Monday."

My eyes narrow. "Why?"

"I don't know." She shrugs. Smiling again, she says, "I can leave a message if you want."

"No, that won't be necessary," I say, turning abruptly back for the Audi.

I slide into the back seat. Taylor glances at me through the rear-view mirror, but doesn't say anything.

"Miss Steele's apartment," I say while thumbing through the contacts on my phone. Without word, Taylor pulls away. A picture of Anastasia brightens my phone. My jaw clenches. I take a deep breath, trying to gain control over my emotions.

 _I'm sorry; the number you've reached is not—_

I throw the phone across the SUV. It bounces off the door, and lands on the floor near my foot. A spider-web crack has bloomed across Ana's porcelain cheek.

 _I'm trying to protect myself_ , she said. How far is she willing to go?

"Is everything alright, Sir?" Taylor asks.

"Just drive."

Ana's apartment is finally in view. Before Taylor even comes to a complete stop, I'm out of the Audi and nearly jogging to Ana's door. I knock, loudly, standing to the side so she wouldn't be able to see me through the peephole.

I hear nothing but birds chirping and the low hum of the Audi's engine. From inside, nothing. No TV. No music. No sound of someone rushing to flee. I knock again. "Anastasia, I know you're home!"

Silence.


	2. Chapter 2

_Monday, June 27, 2011_

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Tomorrow

Date: June 8 2011 14:38

To: Christian Grey

See you then.

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP

I sit at my desk going over her email for what feels like the 100th time in the past few weeks. This was the last thing she'd said to me, and as far as I know, anyone. What did I miss? Why would she promise to see me and then just disappear?

It wasn't just me, though. She didn't give any indication that she was leaving to anyone, not even her mother or stepfather, and no one had any knowledge of her whereabouts. Her disappearance had started a police investigation, much of which was directed at me. At least the media only briefly mentioned that I was involved. However, there hasn't been a lead since the first few days of the investigation, and the police were hardly looking anymore. They had only discovered that items were missing from her apartment: ID, cellphone, a suitcase, traveling necessities. And while the investigators never admitted it, to me anyway, they had stopped suspecting foul play long ago.

But, no, that couldn't have been. She wouldn't just leave. Couldn't. Unless I pushed her too far?

 _No. Don't go there, Grey. It was what she asked for._

My phone vibrates across my desk. Welch.

"I wasn't expecting your call for another three hours. What is it?"

On Welch's end, it sounds like people are shouting in the background, and the wind picks up, making the phone crackle. Welch finally says, "They..." He sighs. "They found Leila's car."

"Leila? I thought I told you–"

"I know. I've been focusing on Ana. This just came to my attention. Listen, they found Ana's suitcase in her trunk–"

"Did they find her? Where is it?"

"They haven't found either of them, but local and state police are searching the area. The cops think they might've made it to this abandoned resort town. And before you do anything rash–"

"Where, Welch?" I can hear the anger growing in my voice, and I'm sure he can too.

"The road's closed off," he says hurriedly. "They're not letting civilians through. Let the police handle this. The town isn't safe."

"What. Town."

He sighs again. "Silent Hill, Maine. The car rolled a few feet off Route 17 and into a stream, just south of the town."

I hang up, tell Andrea to make arrangements for the private jet, and grab my gym bag. On my way to the elevator, I call Taylor and tell him to pack a bag and meet me at the hangar. It's still early. Assuming few obstacles, I estimate that we'll be there by the end of the day. The only real question is how difficult it's going to be to evade the search team. Taylor should prove useful in that regard.

Taylor's waiting by the jet by the time I arrive. He gives me a quizzical look. I hand him a laptop as we board the plane and tell him to find a map of the town of Silent Hill.

"We're going to Maine?" he asks.

"Yes, Taylor." I pull out my own laptop and begin searching for information on the town.

"Any particular reason, Sir?"

"The police found a lead on Anastasia."

He pauses. "In Maine?"

"Yes. It appears Leila has her. For what reason, I don't know. But some of Anastasia's things were found in Leila's car which Leila apparently wrecked near Silent Hill."

"So we're going to speak with the police?"

"Not exactly." I watch his reaction, but he's busy studying the computer screen. "You and I are going to have a look ourselves and assess the town. If we don't find Anastasia, I can organize a search team to assist the police." Of course this is merely an excuse to go look myself.

Taylor glances at me warily. "It says here that the roads are blocked off. Perhaps we should speak with the state police about organizing a search party before we–"

"That takes time, Taylor. And if I recall, the police gave up searching for Anastasia once. I'm not letting her slip through my fingers again because of someone else's incompetence."

"Alright. I'm just stating for the record that this is a bad idea."

"Your cautions are duly noted," I say flatly, not looking up from the website.

Much of the information on Silent Hill was found in websites on ghost towns. Apparently, the town had earned a reputation in paranormal circles largely as a result of the mysterious deaths and disappearances that have occurred since the 1900s. Little was said, however, about the town being abruptly abandoned in the 1980s. Some conspiracy nuts argued that cult activity drove the townspeople away. Others pointed to a more likely scenario: a fire killed a young girl and damaged part of the town, and this tragedy undoubtedly had an impact on the resort town's already fragile economy.

Aside from some potentially unstable buildings, I didn't find any indication that the town wasn't "safe" as Welch had claimed. This gives me some hope for Anastasia, at least.

"We'll be landing soon, Sir."

I nod. "Did you find a way into town?"

Taylor slides the computer across the table separating us so that I could see the map. He points to the bottom of the map. "If Leila's car was found here, they most likely traveled into Southvale initially. The fastest way into Southvale would be to hike through the woods from Route 17 before the roadblock, but the search team will be looking there."

"But it's also where we're going to find Anastasia," I grab my gym bag and start toward the bathroom to change. "It's a large forest. I'm sure we can avoid the search team."

"If you insist, Sir."

The plane lands earlier than expected. After picking up a rent-a-car, we stop at a sporting goods store to get some camping gear, and then make the two hour trip to Silent Hill. Taylor parks the car off the shoulder of the road. We're close to the roadblock, yet there aren't any search vehicles in sight.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" I ask.

He looks into the woods, which appear almost black despite that the sun is still on the horizon, and sighs. "Yeah."

"Don't tell me you're afraid of a little nighttime jog."

"Of course not, Sir." He grabs his gun out of his backpack and slides it into his hip holster. "It's the bears I'm worried about."

I throw my gym bag, now packed with food and water, over my shoulder and start through the forest. "Shouldn't the search team still be searching? Where are they?"

"They might be sticking closer to the road. I'll keep an eye out though."

At a quick jog, it doesn't take long to reach the town. But just as we make it to the first house, a thick fog rolls in, forcing us to slow down.

Taylor leans against a tree in the backyard of the two story family house. "We should rest for the night," he says.

"We've only just arrived. We could at least look for an hour or two."

He shakes his head. "We won't see anything in this fog, and the search team is probably waiting it out too. It's a good time to rest while we can."

I point my flashlight toward the street and all I can see is a blanket of gray. Anastasia could be twenty feet in front of me and I wouldn't even know. "Fine." I throw my gear down and roll out the sleeping bag. "We'll start tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

 _I can see mommy, but she can't see me. Her eyes are like a doll's._

I awake with a start. The image of the crack whore's cold, white face is still burned indelibly into my memory, but it's only a dream. After taking a moment to calm down, I rise and turn to see if Taylor's awake, but his sleeping bag is empty. _Probably patrolling_ , I reason and go to find him.

Since I'd been asleep, the fog has only thickened such that I can barely make out the porch of the house not ten feet from me. At this point, the haze is palpable and oppressive. The air feels suffocating, and it has grown unusually cold for this time of the year. To make matters worse, the ground is littered with junk and debris, making even walking a challenge.

I call for Taylor a few times while circling the house. I should be quieter so that some search team member doesn't alert the police and force me to leave. But I haven't seen a single sign of anyone, search team or otherwise, and I'm starting to believe the fuckers aren't even looking. This place should be crawling with search and rescue by now, but they're sitting on their asses because of a little fog.

Back by the porch, I call one more time, but don't hear a response. Perhaps Taylor heard something. Maybe what he heard was Anastasia and he left to investigate. After two and a half weeks, I don't want to get my hopes up, but what other explanation is there?

I pack my gear and head back to the street. According to the map Taylor pulled up on the laptop, there should be a hospital down Carroll Street not far from where I am. Welch said Leila rolled the car, so they probably had some injuries. My Ana is a bright girl. She would've gone to the hospital first to look for medical supplies. Even if she's left since then, I might at least find some indication that she had been there.

The hike down Carroll Street isn't long, but it's slow. Painfully so. It took a good fifteen minutes just to find the damn street sign. I follow the sidewalk straight and try to avoid the cracks in the road where weeds have begun to grow. Just beyond a rusted Ford Granada parked along the sidewalk, a shadow moves through the fog. It's too tall and broad to be Anastasia.

"Taylor!"

The shadow stops, but then quickly disappears. In the distance, it sounds like someone, or something, is groaning in pain. It hardly sounds human, but then it stops, and the street is quiet again. _This damned fog is really starting to fuck with my head._

Brookhaven hospital is a cement box of a building that looks as bleak and desolate as the rest of the town. The windows, what few I can see, have been shattered either by the weather or looters, and now only metal bars remain with rust from the bars bleeding down the side of the building. A heavy chain and padlock lie useless in front of the double door entrance, so I walk right in.

The inside is as dismal as outside. The walls are a plain gray and were probably white at one time, while the floor is tiled dark green and beige. The fog has seeped in through the broken windows, giving the abandoned hospital an almost otherworldly feel, but it's not nearly as dense as outside. Nonetheless, many of the rooms don't appear to have windows, so I pull out my flashlight.

Most of the rooms on the first floor have been stripped bare already except, oddly, many of the patient files. Folders full of confidential medical information fill the shelves of offices and are scattered around the rooms. One particular page sticks out. It sits in the center of the doctor's desk, and there's a handwritten note under the patient's information.

 _Mind your keys. Patient has tried everything from charm to theft to get into the third floor storeroom. Others are starting to try as well. We may have to move the excess medications in the basement where it's more secure. Many of the patients are terrified of the basement anyway._

The patient's name had been blacked out with a sharpie, but the faded picture shows a young, attractive woman with long brown hair and fair skin. Her eyes are blacked out as well. Under the picture, the file reads: _Depressive neurosis; Drug addiction._ I crumple the woman's file and toss it to the ground with the others.

If they were moving medical supplies, that's going to make my search harder. I'll have to look through the whole hospital anyway, but I might as well start with the storage room and basement. Goal set, I grab a set of keys out of the main office and head down the stairwell.

The basement, of course, is pitch black and freezing, and it worsens the deeper I go. I quickly find the storeroom. Most of the shelves had been knocked over and the supplies lie scattered all around the floor. But there are bandages, gauze pads, and other supplies. It also appears that the pile has been disturbed recently. I smile to myself. At least I know she made it to the town.

I pack a few of the supplies in my bag and turn to leave. Back in the hallway, I can hear that inhuman groaning again. It echoes through the basement, and I can't place where it's coming from.

My phone vibrates against my leg, and in a panic I nearly throw a punch at nothing. _No wonder the patients were afraid of the basement_.

As I pick up my phone, Anastasia's face appears under the spider web crack.

"Anastasia! Where are you?"

Static fills the other end, but her voice comes through. Barely. "Chr—t… Help …"

"I'm here, Ana!" I shout, not knowing how well she can hear me, or if she can at all. "I'm in Silent Hill! Just tell me where you are!"

"I –an … out. O … gone."

"Ana, please. Just give me a name."

"-ose … park."

The call ends. But she's alive, and she's at a park. "Ose" park. Ozark. Losey. Rose. _Fuck it._ How many parks could be in a town this size? I sprint up the stairs and toward the main entrance.

The heavy, rusted chain that was lying outside just moments ago is now twisted around the handles to the front door. The padlock secures the chain. My heart drops, and I remember the inhuman groaning from the basement.

I had just been shouting. Someone knows I'm in here. I point the flashlight to my left and then right down the hallway, just now noticing how dark it's gotten. Almost night. But that's not possible. It's only been a few hours since I woke up.

The groaning fills the halls again, but it's more mechanical this time. And then the chime of an elevator dings distortedly. I hold the flashlight more tightly to keep it still. Slowly and silently, I walk back down the hallway and glance around the corner. As I do, the elevator doors separate, and bright light from the elevator illuminates the hallway.

It remains open, as if waiting.


	4. Chapter 4

Cautiously, I search the rooms closest to the elevator. Someone must've called for it, though that left little explanation for how it was running in the first place. When I find whoever's responsible, I can ask the magician to tell me his tricks, or more like coerce the answers out of him. Until then, I turn off the flashlight. The elevator gives off enough light to see, and the flashlight beam makes me an easy target for whoever might be hiding in the dark.

The elevator sits in the center of the building and the hallway loops around it. The magician could be in any of the open rooms by now, and he might have a weapon. Escape is my best option at least until I can find Taylor.

The first floor only had two exits, and both were locked. I already checked every room that was open and didn't find anything strong enough to break the chain, so I have to go up. I check the stairwell first, and naturally all the doors are locked except the basement.

Back at the elevator, the doors are still wide open and welcoming. I step in, hesitantly, expecting the damn thing to close and then shut down, leaving me trapped. But it does neither, and my anxiety subsides a little. I push "2," and it doesn't respond. With "3," the doors close and the elevator whirs to life.

As soon as I step out on the third floor, the elevator doors close and the light goes out. I push the call button. Nothing.

I turn the flashlight back on and start checking rooms. The first room appears to have been a common area or cafeteria for patients. Several large tables stand along the wall, some of them tipped over. While the rooms downstairs were stripped of anything valuable, this one is still cluttered with junk. Food trays sat on tables, some with food still on them, or what used to be food. Drawings and other artwork are scattered around the room. A chalkboard in the back announces the activity of the day that was decades ago. Had they not bothered to clean this place after it was shut down?

Whatever the reason, it works to my benefit. The common area has two small rooms on its far side, one of which is a janitor's closet. In it, a pair of bolt cutters sits in the corner behind a shelf full of cleaning supplies and a bucket. There's also a key holder on the wall with several key sets. I grab them and return to the stairs. After hunting down the right key, I jog down the stairwell to the first floor and onward to the chained main entrance.

Keeping an eye out for the magician, I start to work on the chain. No luck. I try the padlock. The bolt cutters slip and clamp shut, but the padlock remains unscathed. Anxiety starts to take hold again, and I get the sense that I'm being watched. Groaning fills the hall, though it's more like a whisper this time and not at all distant. I turn, looking for the source.

 _I am being watched._ The flashlight reflects off two sharp-looking pieces of metal each being held by ashen, gangly arms that are covered in bandages. The figure stands still in the middle of the hallway. Too still. Hardly breathing. Its long, matted hair falls forward, completely obscuring its face.

I tighten my grip on the bolt cutters and move to face the figure. It twitches for a brief second so its head is cocked to the side, and it's frozen again.

This has to be a person. Judging by its body shape and tattered clothing, it's probably a woman. But what sort of person would live here? Who _could_ live here?

"Hello?" I say.

She doesn't move.

"Can you understand me?"

She lifts her head at this, somehow looking right at me through that mess of hair.

She swings the blade down across my chest in an instant. She moves frantically and impossibly fast, swinging each blade at me. I hold the bolt cutters up to block the blades. She leans towards me and swings down with both blades. It's all the opening I need, and I hit the back of her head with the bolt cutters.

She groans, but rolls over and tries to get up. I nearly move to subdue her, but her hair falls away from her face and it … it isn't there. Where eyes and mouth should be, there is only scarred flesh. She looks at me with her hollow sockets and a muffled, hoarse sound escapes her as she tries to scream. I try to hold the flashlight still, but I can't stop my hand from shaking. Within seconds, she crawls back to her feet, and I run.

I can hear her footsteps drawing closer as I run for the stairwell. I hit the lock and slam the door behind me. She screams again and thrashes at the door with her blades. I don't know how long it will hold her, so I move quickly up the stairs and back to the third floor, locking that door as well.

I take a minute to calm down before pillaging the place for anything that might help me escape. The storage room and janitor's closet hold nothing of interest. Panic rises again, and I throw the shelf of cleaning supplies to the ground. As it crashes, I hear muffled screams from downstairs again. I lean against the wall to try to calm down, but I notice something that had fallen off the shelves. There are two sets of leather arm and leg straps. The buckles look broken on these. But if they were intended for unruly patients, there will probably be more.

Trying to be quieter, I walk toward the heavy double doors marked "S1 – S14." The door opens to a long, narrow hallway with small rooms aligning the left side. In many rooms, the straps are still secured to the beds. I unfasten several and begin to tie them together using a spool of twine from the art supplies in the common area. It's a weak rope, but it only has to get me down a few stories.

I head up to the roof with my makeshift rope and bolt cutters. While I don't hear the deranged woman anymore, I still lock the door behind me. The bolt cutters make short work of the chainmail fence. I secure a leather strap around the fence pole and climb through.

Holding the flashlight in my mouth, I begin to descend down the side of the building. The rope holds, but my arms are giving out. The fight must've done more damage than I thought. I glance up to see how far I've gone, and another figure glares back.

This one is different. This one has eyes. Black eyes. It pulls out a knife and cuts the strap.

I wake up on the ground covered in mud and staring straight up at the cement building. My body feels like it lost a fight to a freight train, and I don't know whether to be pissed about it or happy that I'm not paralyzed. The fog hasn't left, much to my dismay, but at least it isn't dark anymore. As I try to sit up, a jolt of pain shoots through my head, and I decide to be pissed.

My makeshift rope lies in a pile by my feet. The fall had crushed some of the soup cans and bottles of water I had in my duffle bag, and now my spare clothes and camping gear are covered in Campbell's. I clean what I can and discard the rest.

I stand up and grab my flashlight which is flickering sporadically. As I grab it, though, the light dies completely and refuses to cooperate no matter how many times I hit it. Finally, I throw the fucking thing at the side of the building and start swearing semi-coherently, not caring that the figures can probably hear me because the fuckers are locked inside anyway.

"What on earth are you doing? You're going to rouse the undead."

I grab the bolt cutters from my pile of crap on the ground and turn to face the speaker. He stares at me impassively as I grab the weapon.

I glare back, sizing him up. The man appears normal, at least compared to the deranged woman and the black-eyed … thing. He's tall and slim, but looks athletic. He has dark auburn hair that's combed back, and he's wearing a black suit with a long overcoat.

"Well?" he asks.

Should I tell him about the locked door and the elevator? He's the only other apparently sane person I've met here, so he could be responsible. "The door was jammed. I tried getting down from the roof."

"So it seems," he says, looking toward the roof. "And the flashlight you threw was the cause of your stumble?"

"No, I didn't stumble," I retort. "Someone … or something … cut my rope."

"Yes. The demons. Must've been."

I grimace. "I'm serious. There's something in there."

He laughs. "You must be new to Silent Hill. In which case, I'd like to cordially welcome you," he says with a bow.

New? As opposed to what? "Who are you?"

"Sam. And you are?"

"Christian Grey."

"So why have you come here, Christian?"

I frown, but try to ignore him calling me by my first name. What's more pressing: How could he not know? He wandered into here, in a suit no less, without hearing anything about the search mission? "I'm looking for someone. A woman who was in a crash outside of town."

He smirks. "What kind of a woman?"

My hand tightens around the bolt cutters and I nearly say _my woman_ , but refrain. "Like I said, it isn't safe here. If you're not with the search team, you should leave." I say it with authority, and holding the bolt cutters probably doesn't hurt.

He laughs again, and I seethe. "I think you'll find that leaving Silent Hill is quite impossible." With that, he walks away, disappearing into the fog.

I make my way back to the house where Taylor was when I last saw him. His sleeping bag is still there, but there's no sign of him or that he's been back here. "Demons" or not, I have to keep searching without Taylor. These figures, whatever they are, could easily hurt Anastasia if they haven't already. I scratch "went to park" into the wood of the porch with the bolt cutters.

The fog lightens a bit at the edge of the yard, but where there should be a forest, I don't see anything. I walk closer and come to the edge of a cliff. The fog obscures how wide it is and how far down it goes. The forest I had just walked through is gone, as if the ground had simply broken away.

* * *

A/N: Thank you, reviewers. :)


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